The Thompson family was one of the oldest and most prestigious families in Shady Palms and had funded the pageant since its inception. They owned several businesses and dabbled in construction, but the most lucrative was their sporting goods store that had adopted the athleisure trend early on. The current head of the family, Rob Thompson, had been the subject of several scandals in his youth, many involving the pageant his family ran. Now in his early fifties, he seemed to have calmed down and reveled in the role of pillar of the community—his generous donations and fundraising attempts had increased tourism, brought sports and the arts back into our local schools, and his grants for local farmers and gardeners had enabled Elena and her mom to build the greenhouse that housed their various edible plants and herbs.
At the mention of the Thompsons, Detective Park gave a smile that looked suspiciously like a grimace. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for all that right now, but let’s make an appointment to go over your information in depth. Before I go, Lila,” he turned to me, his gaze so direct and intense, I flinched instinctively, “keep your eyes open when you’re around these pageant people. Let me know if you hear anything suspicious. Even if it doesn’t seem like a threat, I want to know about anyone who may have a beef with either the pageant or the people involved.”
“Ooh, you want me to go undercover?” I gave him a mock salute. “Miss Congeniality, reporting for duty.”
Bernadette snorted. “Miss Congeniality, yeah right.”
Detective Park held up his hands, signaling it wasn’t the time for a fight. “You’re not going undercover. I just want you to be vigilant. I’m hoping it all comes to nothing and we have a great Founder’s Day Festival. But you’re a smart girl. Observant. We’ll have increased security on the day of, but I’m hoping to nip this thing in the bud before then. You are not to take action in any way, just report to me if you see or hear anything suspicious. Are we clear?”
I nodded. “Crystal. The first meeting is in a couple of hours, so I’ll let you know if I learn anything.”
“Good.” Detective Park drained his mug and wiped the crumbs from his face. “Thanks for breakfast, Rosie. I’ll stop by again soon, OK? Maybe we can grab dinner sometime.”
My aunt smiled at him and said that would be great. She stood to let him out, but he paused at the door.
“I shouldn’t have to say this, but watch yourself, Lila. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter Three
After Detective Park left, the breakfast party broke up. Bernadette needed to get to the hospital, and the restaurant would be opening soon. I spent the next few hours going over my aunt’s books, getting so into my task that I lost track of time. I had planned on baking something for the first pageant committee meeting, but it was too late now. I grabbed a tray of my grandmother’s freshly fried turon to bring with me and hurried out to my ancient SUV.
As I drove, I helped myself to the sweet banana spring rolls, the crisp wrapper crackling in my mouth, little shards of caramel littering my dress and clinging to my freshly painted lips. I probably should’ve waited to eat, but I needed to fortify myself. This snack was meant for the pageant committee, but the thought of reentering that world left me scrambling for comfort food.
A world I hadn’t been a part of since my mother died. One where beauty was the only commodity a girl had, where a single slipup—in heels, in hitting the wrong note during your talent portion, with a boy—could somehow be enough to derail all the hopes and dreams your mother had heaped onto your shoulders. My mom had pushed me into one contest after another when I was a kid, determined that I would pick up where she had left off. Her winning her Philippine province’s big beauty pageant had gotten her to the U.S. and no further. Her dreams for herself had ended once she reached the safety and security of a life with my father in quiet, safe Shady Palms.
“But you, Lila,” she’d say to me at night, as she tucked me in after making me recite my prayers, “are American. There’s no limit to what you can accomplish here. You can be so much more. And I know how to get you there.” These memories of my mother always stirred up something uncomfortable in me, both tender and resentful.
She’d been gone so long that I sometimes forgot what she looked like. The sound of her voice. The feel of her hand stroking my hair. The warmth of her smile when I won another competition. Yet all the memories I didn’t want to keep stayed, jagged pieces lodged into my brain and heart. The rivalry she constantly stoked between me and Bernadette. Her blind faith in the lie that was the American Dream. The narrow way she defined beauty, and her belief in its power. Her desire to mold me into whoever she thought she should’ve been—and my yearning yet constant failure to be the girl she wanted me to be.
I shook my head. It didn’t have to be that way. I wasn’t a kid anymore, my mom was gone, and Bernadette and I were friends. Joining—and winning—the pageant as a teen had been more about using the scholarship to get out of Shady Palms than anything to do with my mom. Just like back then, I needed to stay focused on my goals and away from the drama of that world. This pageant had no power over me. I repeated that last statement over and over to myself like a mantra as I drove to the community center, but it took two more turon before I started to believe it.
* * *
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The Shady Palms Community Center was newly renovated, one of the pet projects of the illustrious Thompson family, and housed a swimming pool, basketball court, gym, craft room, meeting rooms, a party room, and an auditorium. This last room was where the pageant committee was meeting. It was also where we’d hold the majority of the contest, with the big final event taking place at the town square’s Main Stage on Founder’s Day.
I arrived right on time, a first for me, but everyone else had already assembled. William Acevedo, the head of the chamber of commerce, was in conversation with a tall White woman, who was dressed like she was about to go hiking and looked to be in her mid-to late fifties. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her. A few paces away from them were Rob Thompson and Mayor Gunderson, both of them laughing it up like two good ol’ boys, dressed in matching outfits of crisp, tucked-in white button-down shirts, slacks, and navy blazers. A gorgeous Black woman I’d never seen before kept an eye on the proceedings from a distance. She was also turned out in business casual attire, but her blazer was a shade of coral I’d never wear (dark color palettes were more my thing) that glowed against her lovely dark skin. She’d paired it with form-fitting capris, and her matching suede open-toed booties completed the look.
Mr. Acevedo noticed me coming down the aisle and waved me over. “Lila! So glad you could make it!”
The mayor flashed his campaign smile and made his way forward with his hand out as if for a handshake. He must’ve realized that was impossible since my hands were full, and smoothly changed his gesture to seem like he was helping me with the tray.
“How lovely! Did you bring us a treat from your restaurant? It’ll be nice to have something decent to eat during these meetings. For once,” he added under his breath. A small table near the stage held a couple of carafes as well as a fruit salad and a box of donuts.